Name: Cameron
Posts by teaelf:
“Passed away” implies a peacefulness I hope she felt
October 30th, 2011I had forgotten my talent for compartmentalization. I’m taking 30 minutes to write, then putting this away again. I kept remembering it this week, then putting it away.
A friend killed herself last week, and I’m still not sure what I think.
Ostensibly, when someone commits suicide everyone blames themselves, and no one should. Of course I know no one could have saved her, that no one is at fault, that there’s nothing I could have done. Except there is.
I am a post of very little brain
June 24th, 2011Edit: It was a combination thereof, plus not realizing there was a plugin Gregory uses that I don’t have.
I’m currently blogging on another wordpress site. Unfortunately, apparently the person who set it up thinks I will explode it. I want to verify that my inability to post images stems from their decisions, not from my incompetence. To do so, I need to make sure I can post media on here. So – test one
Euroland Day 1 – Scaffold Climbing
March 27th, 2011It’s Day 2 right now, 5:45 pm, and the boys are both snoring. None of us slept last night, and today’s bus ride just didn’t offer enough hours to fully rest us. I think they both need it, though.
Day 1 started in a mixed fashion. Friday was a day of highs and lows, and I wasn’t quite back to normal by Saturday. I packed and unpacked half a dozen times before finally giving up and accepting that I would survive, regardless. I panicked about lack of plans, got distracted, panicked a bit again. I printed things and panicked again.
I read recently that perfectionists perform worse than non-perfectionists. They stress so much about getting something “right” that they don’t make all the wrong attempts that help them learn. They turn things in late because they don’t want to turn in an inferior version. Their writing is poor because they never get enough practice writing the lousy versions. I don’t self-identify as a perfectionist, but there is certainly an element of anxiety over making sure I make the best decision and the perfect plan and a deep fear over what happens if I get it wrong. Friday I finally admitted that this trip doesn’t need to have the best of each city. It needs to be nice. We need to have fun. We need to not spend our entire time reading in hostels. But we don’t need to do everything and see everything and feel guilty for downtime.
Adam and I timed our visit quite well. A run by Tesco for red pepper hummus, sourdough bread, crisps and Maltesers still allowed us to be among the first on the bus. A moment of awkward eye contact with FF as the bus drove away took me back to that obnoxious self-absorption about boys that I really need to stop indulging myself in, but Adam proved a wonderfully distracting companion for the rest of the trip.
The trip passed uneventfully, but with a great deal of cooing over baby animals on farms we drove by. We successfully navigated our way to the hostel, despite the fact that my entire conception of Edinburgh is based on the false idea that the castle is North of Princes Street. After checking in and dropping our stuff off in the room Gregory and I were sharing (Only one bed? Good thing it’s large), Adam and I wandered. One of our first discoveries, aside from some awesome scaffolding, was that my sense of direction is dire in Edinburgh. I successfully chose the least interesting direction every time I decided which way to turn. Eventually we turned around and started to explore a more interesting section. We discovered lots of old book stores, a few vintage clothes shop, and a place that sells yarn and tea. (I think I found heaven). After searching for a few of the spots Adam remembered from his last trip here, we made our way back toward the hostel. We were stopped along the way by a street performer whose banter was nearly matched by his ability to swallow a 20″ sword, juggle machetes, and extinguish a flaming torch in his mouth. The last trick was made more impressive by the board of nails on his stomach and the 20stone man on top of the board. I was entertained, Adam was in absolute awe. I don’t think of myself as jaded, but watching his reaction made me realize just how much I was under-reacting to the performance. I did work – fairly successfully – to revive my childlike awe. (Not to be confused with the emotions of two of the actual children in the crowd who fully expected the performer to die, and told him so. Loudly)
Gregory’s arrival was joyous. He arrived, blue hair and all, a bit after five and immediately injected energy, silliness and a sense of purpose into the evening. We took off for dinner at the Black Bull, a pub which (despite lacking fish and chips) served a few great Cask Ales and some fairly tasty onion rings.
Walking to a pub that evening involved a great deal of scampering over scaffolding, a process of which I invariably approve. I’m sure Gregory and Adam are tired of hearing my excitement over converse, but I’m really enjoying having the freedom to climb again. My normal tendency to monkey and act like a 5 year old has been seriously impeded by the poor choices I made when bringing shoes to this country. I feel more me with the ability to climb things, and luckily I’m in good company.
By our second pub of the evening we’d picked up one more, Tufts student from Argentina named Axel. He looks disconcertingly similar to a neuroscience postdoc I knew in NY, though this is at least as much stylistic as bone structure per se. As Adam and I discussed matters of emotion and psychology, Axel and Gregory chatted away. I kept catching bits of talk of literature, much of which sounded quite interesting.
It’s been ages since I’d pulled a true all-nighter, and by 5:30 am I felt remarkably energized. While deeply disappointed to discover Gregory had successfully avoided us during the course of his simultaneous all-nighter (He snuck by us! Hiding! Not saying hello!) Even so he eventually admitted his wakefulness and joined Adam and I for a morning chat, marking the official transition to day two.
Debate of the Day
March 3rd, 2011I came across an article about this court case a few days ago: http://www.thisisderbyshire.co.uk/news/High-Court-decide-foster-carers-bid/article-2824985-detail/article.html
The article I read simply explained that the court’s judgment* had been in favor of the foster care system, declaring the couple ineligible to foster based on their inability to condone the homosexual lifestyle.”
Alice referenced this case this morning with the introduction, “Point out three things wrong with this statement.”
My response was, “Let’s start with the fact that it isn’t a lifestyle,” to which she responded, “Fair point, name four.”
And here we discovered a fundamental disagreement. She thinks the foster care system is being ridiculous – if a loving couple wants to open their home to a child who needs that home, it should be allowed. They aren’t blatantly homophobic, she said, they simply state their religion opposes it. In general we can’t screen against bigots reproducing, so why should we decide that this couple’s religious belief renders them ineligible to foster?
I had skimmed the article and she’d heard about it from a friend, so we talked about how this changes based on the age of a child. In the states a great number of homeless teens are gay. I argued that it’s possible that in the UK a significant number of teenagers in the foster care system have been kicked out because of their orientation, thus making this a key factor to screen for in potential parents. She responded by saying that she’d been envisioning a child – little Timmy – who, after 16 years of loving they would continue to love if he were gay.
I realize these comparisons are a bit trite, but what if this were a question not of orientation but of religion. Supposedly the question they were asked was along the lines of, “Would you be able to tell the child it is OK to be homosexual?” What if, instead, it had been a question about the acceptability of being Jewish or Muslim or atheist or Buddhist? If they answered no, if they stated they would not be OK with the child they fostered being any of these religions (or non-religions), I would be disinclined to approve them to foster.
I understand where Alice is coming from, and I think it’s difficult to form an opinion without knowing the couple. Maybe what they said in their interview was, “Do we think being gay is right? No, we genuinely couldn’t tell a child that. What we could say is that we love them anyway and will always continue to love them, no matter what. We can also say that God makes everyone different, and that if you read the bible we all commit sins of some sort, and that we can judge them for their sexual orientation no more than we can judge their little brother for rolling his eyes when we tell him to set the table, or the couple down the road for divorcing.”** If that’s the case, while I fundamentally disagree with them I think that this shouldn’t necessarily exempt them from being foster parents. If they can be loving and supportive and compassionate, then the home they offer is probably a good one. Additionally, if they do end up fostering a child who does end up coming out, this might just be the chance for them to realize that they should reevaluate their own assumptions about homosexuality.
For some reason, I doubt that’s what was said. For their application to be the only one in the UK flagged for rejection on this basis (and the law has been around for over three years), I’m guessing their response was more extreme. It may not have been “all gays will burn in hell,” but my assumption is that it was along the lines of “We can not accept homosexuality nor can we accept homosexuals.” My assumption is they made it clear that someone who is gay would not be welcome in their home.
Fundamentally, if you can not tell a child being homosexual is OK, you must think that being homosexual is not OK. If you think that it is not OK for your child to be who they are, then I don’t think the state should knowingly put vulnerable children in your care – and foster children are vulnerable.
A study in the US found a 4x greater rate of suicide attempts among adolescents in foster care*** And, as anyone who ran a GSA for three years should know, suicide rates are markedly higher in the LGBTQ community. A study in 1997 discovered gay and bisexual young men were close 14 times more likely to attempt suicide.****
There is, however, a fatal flaw in my logic. We do not live in an ideal world.
This couple is (obviously) not the best couple in the world to raise some children. That said, it is entirely possible that they would have been amazing foster parents to one or two or many children who will, as a result, end up in notably worse homes, or group homes, or stay in the custody of abusive parents. As much as I think that this rule should be in place and was, most likely, properly enforced in this context, I recognize that I’m basing this in an ideal world. If there are an infinite number of fit foster parents, we can easily reject this couple. In the real world there is a constant shortage of foster parents, and a constant supply of children who need foster care.
Perhaps it could be possible to screen well and only put children with them who are old enough to know their orientation and/or are Christian. Maybe it is possible to only put them with children who are too young to be concerned with sexual orientation (though that age has dropped significantly in the past generation or two). Yet the foster care system is already overburdened – as much as adding one more potential family is valuable, adding an entirely new set of restrictions to check for in placement seems fairly inconvenient for all involved.
*For ages now I’ve been feeling stupid because I can never remember how to spell “judgement.” I keep having spell check tell me I’m wrong, then going into the real world and thinking, “I swear spell check told me the other way!”) I just discovered that the spelling varies with context everywhere but in America. as “judgment” looks really really wrong to me, I’m going to use the British spelling, where “judgement” is acceptable for all use other than legal. Unfortunately, in this case “judgment” is the correct word.
**I actually hate this argument with a fiery passion.
***Pilowsky, J.D., & Wu, L. (2006). Psychiatric symptoms and substance use disorders in a nationally representative sample of American adolescents involved with foster care. Journal of Adolescent Health, 38, 351–358.
****Bagley, C. and P. Tremblay. 1997. a. Suicidal behaviors in homosexual and bisexual males. Crisis 18:124–34. PubMed
Novel Romance
February 14th, 2011I went on the world’s most romantic walk yesterday. We met up at 4:40 and walked through an alley to a park to a stream, then walked along it. We crossed a bridge and climbed a hill just at sunset, standing in silence watching this incredibly beautiful scene. The trees stood out against the sky. The hill had been a 7th century graveyard for a Christian Pict community. And I was standing there with a tall, slender curly haired boy with incredibly beautiful green eyes. I’ve told him before, and told him again last night, that he’s exactly who I spent my entire childhood convinced I’d fall in love with.
“And yet…” he said.
“I’m not a child anymore.” It seems like such a simple concept to me.
- TeaElf
Classes
February 14th, 2011The reason my last post was merely “part 1″ was that, even by the time I posted it, it was already outdated. I’ve been typing in word and posting here later. I thought of simply not writing it, but I figured other posts may tie back to the same sentiments expressed there, so there’s no reason not to just add an update.
Unfortunately, my English class didn’t work out. I went to meet with the English adviser and was greeted with, “Oh, you like it here? You should transfer! Don’t worry about credits, we’ll make them work out! It’ll be fantastic, stop telling yourself not to. Now what can I do for you? You’re an English major, right?”
When told no, the response changed. No, she couldn’t put me in a fourth year class. Not even a third year module. She wouldn’t send a student off to a fourth year cognitive psychology course, would she?
Well, no. Unless the student had five semesters of the subject under her belt. I’ve taken two semesters on western literature, a basic writing course, a course on feminist texts, and a course on Latin American literature. And that doesn’t even take into account the crossover in terms of writing that can be offered by my poli sci courses or global core courses or philosophy course. Grar.
So instead I’m taking a course called “Peaces Processes and Violence” which I’m quite excited for. If Columbia accepts it as political science credits, I could take three more political science classes at home and get a psych major with a political science concentration. Not really sure if there is any particular reason to do so, but it’s interesting to know.
I love it here. Alice told me I could have her flat through the end of July (two months after the semester ends!) so I’m not planning to go home for awhile. I asked my school if I could stay here through next semester. I don’t think they’ll say yes, but it seems like it’s worth asking. I know I’m still in the happy bubble, but I like it.
A “happy bubble” is actually a strange word for it. I meant the honeymoon phase, but it seems like maybe St. Andrews could be a happy bubble for me. I’ve talked to so many people here (JSA’s and St. Andrews students) for whom their school IS a happy bubble, and I envy that.
Classes – part 1
February 12th, 2011February 7, 2011 – 10:40 am
Paranoid over not knowing the precise location of my classroom, I left the dorm at 10:15 for an 11:00 class. Needless to say, I am early. I’m not registered for – nor approved for – this course. It’s a senior English course, so I have to cross my fingers and hope they’ll let me in.
I realized, though, that I sound horribly unqualified for the class. I’ve taken one “great books” course and one “Latin American Literature” course since arriving at college. I guess there was a “feminist texts” course as well, during first year. I don’t have a single paper I’d be proud to turn in, though. Nothing I’ve written since college began has genuinely felt like a solid paper. There are three explanations for this. The first is haste – I write the papers in the hours before they’re due, not giving myself time to properly structure or support my essays. The next is lack of editing. While this is certainly related, the two should not be conflated. Without an appropriate editing process, no paper will be strong. The third reason is standards. I turn in awful first drafts and, time and again, receive an A- or A on the paper.
I genuinely hope that isn’t the case in this course. I hope they have expectations. As every other person in the class will be a fourth year English student (I think), this should set the bar fairly high. While I’d like to get an A (of course), I’m more interested in the opportunity to read fiction, discuss it, and try to produce two strong papers this term
Museum visit
February 12th, 2011February 7, 2011 – 10:40 am
I stopped in the Museum of St. Andrews Saturday. It lies in the field I walk through to get to and from my dorm, perhaps a six-minute walk from my door. The current exhibit is an alphabetical history of St. Andrews. I has intended to visit, but was motivated as much by a desire to dry off mid-walk home as to learn about St. Andrews. In twenty minutes exploration, it appeared to provide some interesting background. I had never connected Regulus and the Rule, nor known that St. Andrew’s cross is depicted as an “x” shape despite having no historical reason not to believe it was shaped in a standard fashion.
There was also a section focusing on “W,” for “War.” I wanted James to visit, so I could show him the Polish uniforms. Perhaps even more interesting was the acknowledgment that the Scots had interment camps up for foreign nationals, such as the Italians and Germans. It named two Italian families from St. Andrews that were held during the war. One, Janette, is also the name of one of the ice cream parlors in town. In a town this size, they are almost certainly the same family.
Culture Clash
February 1st, 2011My apologies, this is likely incredibly dull reading. I’m narrating personal conflicts which involves a lot of back story for minimal introspection.
Heathrow Musings
February 1st, 201131-01-2011, mid-afternoon in London
Stopping over in Heathrow at the moment. I overestimated the time it would take to go through immigration / customs and get back in through security. Luckily LHR is a fairly mellow place to wait.
I had never flown Virgin before, and it was slightly surreal. I’ve grown so accustomed to American flights. We huddle around the gate in tense hordes, mobbing the gate agents in the mad rush to get on board and sit down as quickly as possible.
In contrast, Virgin loaded slowly, with people trickling on for close to forty minutes. The plane was enormous – and quite empty. In my row of eight seats, there were only three people. I failed to take full advantage of the room, which I have begun to regret. There also appeared to be a bar area on the plane which I wasn’t really expecting. I should probably have explored it, but instead I slept.
I’m realizing how sedentary I am. In Colorado, rather than explore I stayed at the airport. Yes, I made an airport friend, but I’ve heard lovely things of Denver and I didn’t bother to visit it at all. I have too much stuff, I convinced myself, I’m not particularly mobile. And anyway, I wouldn’t want to sleep in and miss my flight tomorrow.
While I gave myself several excuses for remaining sedentary, the luggage one was the most persuasive. I think I need to work on packing lighter, in order to not feel trapped by my own belongings. This trip I packed relatively light (one 20 kg bag, one smaller 16 kg bag, and an overstuffed “purse” filled with odds and ends).
Property really does have a transformative effect. I feel weighed down by goods, both while traveling and at home. I have boxes in three states. Ok, I have boxes in two states an assortment of objects in a third state, including my favorite pillow and an awkward-to-pack basket.
There are things I own that actually matter, but so much of what I own is of fairly little importance. In NY I have five boxes of book and school supplies. I should have just given the pens to goodwill and recycled the half-full notebooks. Instead I carefully ripped out the used sections, ready to fill the rest of the notebooks next year.
There is any number of reasons I have such a hard time getting rid of things. While I’m sure some of it is modeling, I think a great deal of it is that fear founded in early childhood. My God, if I get rid of this one, what if I can never find a replacement? What if I need to bye a new one and can’t afford it? This is a perfectly good thingy, and it would be shamefully wasteful to get rid of it.
I packed most of my stuff at home into big plastic bins. I left a few things out, but relatively little: books, some clothes, a single drawer in my desk.